An Unfortunate Association
by GeekBehindtheGlasses
Summary: When Sally and Sherlock are kidnapped, she can't help but blame him. When it turns out the kidnappers are old acquaintances of hers, she finds herself in a whole new world of trouble.
1. Chapter 1

Leaning against a wall, arms folded, Sally watched as the forensics team started to pack up. Another body found, another notch in this killer's belt. They were having very little luck in finding out anything about who was behind this series of rather brutal murders, but they'd have it figured out in no time now. Of course everything would be solved now that the famous Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were on the case. It was taking all her effort not to actually glare at John as he stood talking to Lestrade; after all, he wasn't too bad. He always had a nice word for her, always apologised when his flatmate insulted her. That freak infuriated her no end, but she had to admit, he was good at sorting things out. Looking past the forensics team, she couldn't see Sherlock further down the street anymore. He'd probably wandered off into some alley and would start shouting that he'd found the clue to solve it all any minute now.

"Sergeant Donovan." It was Lestrade speaking, it seemed that he and John were now comparing phones or something. "Think you could go find Sherlock and see what he's doing."

Sally was ready to argue; ready to come up with any number of reasons why that wasn't her job. But Lestrade had that look on his face, the one designed to remind her that she had to work with the freak and accept it. Sighing and putting on her best 'I Hate You' smile, she walked down the street to find out where he'd gone. As was to be expected, she found him halfway down a dark alley at the far end of the street. He was fairly recognisable even in the dim light from the streetlights, he insisted on wearing that stupid coat of his in the height of summer. Even her thin suit jacket felt too heavy in the warmth.

"John, I think I have found something of interest," he called out, waving a hand at her while he crouched down to look at something on one wall.

"Guess again," she responded, but he didn't even turn around to acknowledge his mistake. Probably hadn't even heard her and still assumed it was John. She folded her arms again and looked up and down the alleyway. A few darkened doorways, back entrances to the abandoned buildings that littered the area and a van parked across the other exit to the alley. Now that was strange, there was little of interest around here, the place was crawling with police and a battered van had rather conveniently blocked off one exit to a dark alley. That didn't seem quite right.

"Hey, how long has that van been there?" Sally asked, slowly starting to take a few steps back so she could be nearer the lit street and the other officers. Sherlock still didn't react, clearly oblivious to her presence now.

That was when a figure suddenly stepped out from one of those darkened doorways. At first she didn't react, trying to figure out what the person was up to. Then they started to advance towards them.

"Police," she called out. "This is a crime scene, you need to leave."

Sherlock reacted to that, looking up at her in total confusion. As soon as he saw her staring down the alley, he turned to see what she was looking at and jumped to his feet once he saw the figure too. Whoever it was, a man as far as she could tell, was still coming towards them. Walking forwards, she made sure she was stood near Sherlock now. She'd never hear the end of it if he got hurt and she just let it happen, even if she did want to a little. The man sped up then, he was definitely focused on them. Sally pushed Sherlock to one side, feeling just a little satisfied when she heard him thud into the alley wall. Now she was in a defensive position ready to fight off this assailant, ready to shout as loud as possible to get the other officers to come running to her aid.

An arm suddenly wrapped around her waist, pinning her arms to her side, and hand was roughly forced over her mouth. There'd been someone behind them, how had she not noticed that? She started to struggle and kick out, but this grip was tight. Sherlock was just staring at her and she tried hard to scream at him to go for help. In fact, he was so busy looking at her he didn't notice the other man get behind him and suddenly grab his hair. In a flash his head had been forced to one side and a needle pushed into his neck. Again she screamed, but the sound was too muffled for anyone to hear.

"Good job we brought spares," the man with the needle said, pulling another syringe from his pocket even as Sherlock slid down the wall. He was succumbing to whatever it was fast; he was well beyond shouting for help now. When her head was manhandled to one side, she tried so hard to struggle. She wasn't going to be drugged and she wasn't going to be kidnapped, not tonight, that was not going to happen. It was useless though and as the needle slid into her skin, she wondered how on earth she was going to explain this to her superiors later. As soon as she started to sag in the man's arms, he released her and let her drop to the floor near Sherlock. Slowly she found herself slipping into unconsciousness staring into that face she so despised. She could only hope they woke up again so she could have the pleasure of punching him in the face because this had to be his fault. Somehow, this had to be his fault.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up was a slow process, everything was fuzzy and heavy. It took her a few moments to even realise she was waking up, but then she was just glad to know whatever they'd given her hadn't been intended to kill. When the thought occurred to her that this meant that they wanted them alive, it set a whole new set of alarm bells ringing in her mind. Taking deep breaths she tried to assess the situation. She could hear voices, but they were very quiet and she couldn't make out what they were saying. The pain across her shoulders made her realise that her arms had been pulled behind her back. Trying to move her hands a little, the clink of metal alerted her to the handcuffs being used to keep her subdued. Her legs weren't restrained though, not even to the chair she was sitting on, another thing that had only just dawned on her. Thoughts were coming more clearly now. She was sat on a chair with her hands restrained behind her back and there were other people in the room.

Opening her eyes, she had to blink a few times to adjust to the light in the room, but was soon ready to try and take a look around the room. As soon as her head went up though, a voice from one side distracted her from any plans of figuring out an escape.

"Looks like the good Sergeant is awake, how are you feeling?"

"Alan," replied Sally with a smile, instantly recognising the well muscled man with the receding hairline and distinct lack of front teeth. "Good to see you again. How's your brother?"

In front of her now, his face darkened, an ugly expression gracing those already fairly unpleasant features.

"Bit hard for a wanted man to walk into a prison," he replied, his voice hard. "Would make your job easier though wouldn't it?"

"Of course it would." Her tone was light, still smiling.

"Well, let me show you what I think."

The punch to the face was hard, but nowhere near as hard as it could have been. Alan Davison's right hook was pretty infamous and it had broken quite a few jaws over the years. Her face certainly hurt, but she didn't think he'd done any lasting damage. Her head had snapped round to the right and as she looked up, she found Sherlock was looking at her. His eyes were perfectly clear and focused, knowing him he'd probably been conscious for a while and just hadn't let on. It seemed all it took to snap him out of it was her getting smacked in the face.

"Oh good, he's awake. Let's get this video made then."

With that, he walked away from them back to the group of men in the corner of the room. There were four of them along with Alan; she could name them all if they didn't have balaclavas on. They were all wanted men, but they'd only ever managed to catch and convict Alan's younger brother Mark. It had still been a good result; Mark was the one who had been caught on camera stabbing a security guard who got in the way of one of their robberies. While the gang were violent, Mark was the one who liked to play with weapons. Sally had worked on the case and had been one of the officers called to testify at the trial, she'd been present at the arrest when yet another lot of weapons were found and he'd tried to turn a machine gun on them. Thankfully, he hadn't thought to load it first.

Once again her best intentions of trying to take a look at the room where cut short when Alan and one of the other men came back over to them. The other man had a camera and Alan was looking very pleased with himself. He positioned himself to one side of the pair, the camera solely focused on him to start with and certainly keeping them off camera. With a nod, there was a beep as the record button was pressed.

"Hello again Lestrade, bet you were hoping the next time you saw my face I was going to be in one of your cells. No such luck I'm afraid. Just like there's not going to be a lot of luck for these two we picked up off the street if you don't do what we want."

The camera turned to focus on Sally and Sherlock now. She debated shouting something, telling Lestrade not to do whatever they wanted, but that wasn't going to end well. Sherlock just sat with a look of complete boredom on his face; she found she couldn't decide if that was reassuring or terrifying.

"Now, I'm sure you want these two back, but there's someone I want back too." Alan had come to stand behind them, between the two chairs. He laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, while the hand by Sally was making a few wild gestures. "I want my brother back Lestrade. You get him out of prison and you can have these two back. You don't get him out and you'll get these two back piece by piece. Now, I know what you'll say about protocol and all that, but I'm sure you'll find a way. For now, we'll give you an hour to come back to us with some good news. If you don't, we'll have some fun with the posh one here and you know that's not going to look good. Talk to you soon."

The camera beeped again and Alan let out a loud laugh, quickly reciprocated by the other men. Sally allowed a quick glance at Sherlock, but there didn't seem to be a change in his expression at all. Only someone like him could stay completely emotionless at the rather certain prospect of getting a good kicking from five wanted armed robbers.

The two of them found themselves being pulled to their feet and dragged out of the room. The door out of that room led to a landing, it looked like they were in some two up, two down house. Across the landing was another door, one with a heavy looking bolt at the top and bottom, as well as a padlock where the door handle should have been. Before being pushed in, the handcuffs were removed, and then they were alone in the room. It didn't take a lot of surveying, a single bulb hanging from the ceiling and a bricked up window on the wall opposite the door. Between that and the security measures on the door, they weren't getting out of the room anytime soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Sally sighed loudly and sat down on the floor, her back resting against the wall. Sherlock had chosen to stand near the closed door, so she had decided to go and sit on the opposite side of the room. That wasn't exactly far away in the small room, but it was enough. It seemed he had always been the target of this kidnapping plot; she'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was enough to just sit and seethe at him for a while. Not that he was paying any attention to her glare though, he was pacing deep in thought and she assumed trying to figure out how to get out of this situation.

"We aren't going to escape on our own," she said at last when she had gotten bored of the pacing. "I'm sure someone will come find us soon, probably that guy with the black car who seems to always know where you are. You may as well stop pacing and relax."

While he did see fit to roll his eyes at her when he spoke, he did actually stop pacing and sit down. He'd taken up position leaning against the wall opposite the door, long legs pulled up close to him. Sally had chosen to stretch her legs out and from where she was sitting she could almost nudge him with her foot. If he got particularly annoying, she could just slide down a little and give him a swift kick. Now they just sat in silence for a while, both contemplating what had happened. A thought suddenly occurred to Sally and she found herself laughing at an old memory. Sherlock barely turned his head to look at her, but she could see he was looking confused.

"This is what my Mum warned me about when I joined the police force, getting kidnapped by London thugs. I hadn't really expected it to happen, but at least now she can say she was proved right."

Sally smiled at the memory of that conversation, how she'd laughed at the ridiculous idea that she was going to be kidnapped. Sherlock had actually turned to look at her properly now with that odd piercing stare that he always had when he was trying to figure something out about a person.

"Your mother, very protective is she?" he asked at last, watching her reaction carefully.

"She was when I wanted to join the police force," she replied, tilting her head to one side as she remembered. "She worried about the sexism, about the racism, about police officers getting attacked, about how I would cope and all that. I'm an only child, it was understandable."

Sherlock didn't say anything, just nodded at her before turning his head and raising his hands so his chin rested on his fingertips. He was probably storing that all for later, she mused, and there'd be something he'd use that for.

"So," she began to say, bored of the silence. "How long will it be before the bloke with the black car and higher security clearance than the Queen turns up to rescue us?"

That made Sherlock snap out of his thoughts, whipping his head round to fix his eyes on her.

"I know he's something to do with you, so I presume he's going to be the one responsible for finding us and getting us out of here. Who is he to you anyway?"

For a moment it didn't seem like he was going to answer, there was a strange look of frustration there that Sally had rarely seen before.

"I'm sure he'll be co-ordinating with Lestrade to try and locate us. He would never be allowed to forget it if he let something happen to his little brother."

There was a strange sarcastic tone to the way he spoke that made Sally wonder if he was being sincere, but then there was the frustration again. There was nothing like sibling rivalry, and that had to be one hell of a rivalry.

"Brother? Huh. Well that's going to see a lot of money changing hands when I get back to the office."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her.

"You've been betting on who he was to me?"

"Of course," she replied with a smirk. "We always enjoy getting some entertainment out of you. Between that, the betting pool on you and John and his blog, we've got hours of fun there."

He'd already opened his mouth, she presumed to ask what the betting in regard to him and John was, but was silenced when there was a noise at the door. They both turned to look as the sound made it clear someone was unfastening the locks before the door swung open. It was one of the men; he was still dressed in black with a balaclava on. To Sally it seemed ridiculous to have all these disguises on, but apparently this what they had decided to go with. It's not like it wasn't obvious they were going to be members of the group, even Sherlock would know that and he hadn't been involved in the case. The man was holding a large bottle of water and was staring right at Sally.

"Boss thought you might want something to drink, come and get it."

The words were meant for her, even if Sherlock was closer, and that could only end badly. Ignoring the part of her brain screaming to stay away, she got up and walked towards him. Sure enough, as soon as she was in reach, he dropped the bottle and grabbed her by the throat. Sally found herself being slammed into the wall next to the door, which given that it was at one corner meant they were in full view of the landing if anyone walked past. She risked a glance out to see if anyone was there, but it was deserted.

"He said we aren't to lay a hand on you, but why shouldn't we?" His voice was a growl, the fingers tight enough on her throat to leave marks but not enough to deprive her of oxygen. She reached up and tried to pull his hand away, but he didn't let go. His eyes were fixed on her, burning with pent up rage. They'd been waiting for this moment, the chance to get back, and they'd been denied because they wanted to use Sherlock as the leverage. "You'll get your turn soon, but not soon enough for my liking. I can't wait to hear you squeal pig."

Behind the man, Sherlock was shifting, slowly standing up and Sally could see he had a plan to try and take on the man. That was not a good idea in the slightest. Thankfully, they were all interrupted by the sound of Alan's voice shouting down to them.

"Get the fuck off her!"

The man released Sally reluctantly and stepped back as Alan barged into the room.

"I told you, he's the one they'll do anything for, she's the one we move onto later when he's spent."

Sally laughed loudly and all three men in the room turned to look at her.

"You think they'll care if you beat him up? Half the Yard would pay to watch you smash that freak's face in. We hate him. Your plan's not going to work very well there I'm afraid."

The cogs were turning then; she could almost smell the burning as Alan tried to think it over.

"Very well," he said with a cruel smile. "If we don't get good news from your DI, we'll give you the once over instead. Coppers hate seeing other coppers hurt, they'll not like that and will want you back right away. Besides, it'll make this lot much happier. We'll see you soon Sally."

The two men left, all smiles and planning how best to take out their frustrations on Sally and they were left alone again. She rubbed her neck, sighed and reached down to pick up the bottle of water. Well aware that Sherlock was stood near her, she chose to ignore him for now as she took a few swigs out of the bottle before holding it out to him. He was staring at her but she couldn't quite read his expression, he seemed confused and angry and sad all at the same time, if that was possible.

"You should be thanking me," she said.

"So, you insult me and that means I should thank you?" he said it slowly, taking the bottle from her outstretched hand. "I don't feel that deserves much in the way of thanks."

"No, you should thank me because now you aren't going to get your head kicked in."

There was the realisation.

"You said that so they'd assault you rather than me when the inevitable message comes to them that Mark Davison will not be released from prison. Why would you do that? As you said, you all hate me."

Sally sighed and walked down to the other end of the room. She rubbed her hands across her face trying to quell the sudden sick feeling in her stomach. She'd known fine well what she was doing, known very well that she was going to do that as soon as Alan had said they were going to hurt Sherlock when he'd made the video, but hearing him say it made her realise how real that was. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to look at him and found him just watching her, which was just a little creepy.

"I did it because you're right, Lestrade is not going to be telling them good news and they are going to want to hurt one of us on camera to send a message. They go for you and it's a calculated type of violence, designed to hurt and make you scream but making sure not to do too much damage so they can just keep doing it. They are angry at me, so they'll not really be focusing much. They'll just want to take out frustrations, which will probably leave more marks than anything else. Plus, I'll never hear the end of it if I let the world's only consulting detective get hurt without at least trying to protect you. And I don't hate you, I just seriously dislike you."

With her little speech finished, Sally sat herself back down and folded her arms over her chest. Sherlock was standing there, seemingly thinking over what she'd said for a while before he nodded and sat back down too. They sat there in that awkward silence for longer than she expected. Surely he was going to tell her why her plan was flawed or how this self sacrifice was foolish? But no, he just sat quietly without even looking at her.

"I appreciate the gesture," he said eventually, which Sally could only assume was the closest Sherlock Holmes got to saying thank you.

"No problem," she responded, just a little put out that he wasn't even going to protest even a little at the fact she had volunteered herself to take a beating his place. Resting her head back against the wall, she stared up at the ceiling. While they'd been unconscious they had taken her phone and watch so she wasn't even sure how much time had passed. The deadline had been an hour, but she wasn't sure if Lestrade would wait the full hour before he gave them the news. It was pretty simple, there was no way they were just going to let him out of prison.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: There is violence/torture in this chapter. I know it's been implied this was going to happen, but I just wanted to make a clear warning._

* * *

><p>Sure enough, it wasn't long before the door was opened again and the four black clothed men walked in. Both Sally and Sherlock would have quite happily gotten to their feet themselves if asked, but the men insisted on just grabbing them and forcing them up. Sally watched as they took Sherlock out first and followed behind as they were taken back into the room. There was only one chair out now, the other was pushed off to one side and Alan was lounging in it with a smug look on his face. Sherlock was pushed into the chair, his hands pulled behind his back and handcuffed together again. Sally found herself being led to the centre of the room, her hands being handcuffed behind her back as well. One of the men stayed stood behind her, while the other three began to set up for the next video to be made. Their positions meant that Sherlock was sat to her left, about to get a good view of what was to unfold. Ignoring the growing sense of fear gathering, she took deep breaths, trying to focus her eyes on the wall before her.<p>

"Right, let's get started," she heard Alan say behind her, and then he was in front of her. He smiled at her, that sought of sick leering smile that told of how much he was going to enjoy this, and then he patted her on the cheek were earlier he'd punched her. She flinched, she couldn't help it, and that made him laugh. Now he was taking up position in front of her, the camera turned on him and just keeping her out of shot. She dared to take a glance at Sherlock, but he wasn't bothered in the slightest by it all it seemed. Her eyes turned forwards again just as Alan started his new video.

"Hello again Lestrade, such a shame that we are going to have to do things your way. According to you, there's no way you can let an attempted murderer like my brother out of prison and that there's nothing you can do about it anyway. Now I don't believe that, but if that's how you are going to play it, so be it. Now I now we said it was going to be the posh one we'd have some fun with, but we've decided we'd much rather have some fun with the lovely Sally here."

The camera turned to focus on her now, but she refused to look at it. He was stood off to her left so she just continued to focus on the wall in front of her, trying as hard as possible to keep her expression blank. That task was made much harder when one of the men came to stand just in front of her, though clearly not at an angle to block the camera's view of her. Now looking straight ahead, she could see the sparkling eyes under the balaclava. It was the bastard who'd grabbed her by the throat. Behind her, the man moved to grab hold of her arms to keep her still. She tried to brace herself for the first swing, but it didn't make any difference. He punched her hard across the face, again punching her across the left cheek. As soon as her head snapped to the right, he brought his other fist across to punch her on that side, snapping her head back round. The next punch caught her nose and she heard the sickening crunch. Blood poured down, the metallic taste filling her mouth as he came in for a few more punches to each side.

Then he was stepping back, giving the camera ample time to focus on her bleeding face, before another man came in. This one punched her hard and fast in the stomach, the blow making her knees buckle. Of course when he saw that, he just kept going, each punch punctuated by an angry grunt. There were a few punches to her side too, his attack on her torso seemingly relentless. When he seemed to have gotten bored, the guy behind her suddenly rammed his knees into the back of hers and she found herself falling. When she hit the floor, she tried instinctively to curl up; she needed to protect her already aching stomach. But he was prepared for that it seemed and instead gave her a swift kick in the back, making her arch reflexively. That was enough time for his to get round to the front of her and land a few hard kicks to her stomach. It hurt, oh god it hurt, but she refused to let the tears that threatened fall. She did cry out, the pain was too much not to.

At last, they stood back and she heard Alan start talking again.

"Now, that's just a taster. You've got another hour to come back to us with something better or we'll be breaking out the knives."

Hands grabbed her, forcing her to her feet as the camera turned back to her to demonstrate their point once again. She wanted to stand tall, but there was such a pain every time she took a breath that she preferred to stay slouched, held up by the strong hands that gripped her arms. Then the camera was off again and they were being hauled back off to the room. Nothing was said to her, but she could hear them talking behind her, revelling in the fact they'd just gotten to beat up a copper and how satisfying it had been. Handcuffs were taken off and she was pushed into the room after Sherlock.

Unexpectedly, at least to her, she found Sherlock taking hold of her arms and holding her up. She so wanted to just drop down onto the floor and lie there for a while, the floor definitely seemed like the best place. He managed to get her to walk across and sit on the floor, leaning against the wall just like they had been before. Then he knelt next to her and began to look her over with that critical eye of his.

"Don't you dare feel sorry for me," she muttered, trying to take a deep breath and instantly regretting it.

"Right now I am more concerned about your injuries than your pride." His voice was hard, but there was that slightest hint of concern in those strange eyes of his. Once he'd stopped glaring at her, he looked down at her torso and suddenly she found that he was trying to push her shirt up. That earned him a quick smack, just like you'd do to a naughty dog.

"Don't think you're copping a look perv," she growled, but with a smile starting at one side. She knew he was trying to help, but that wasn't going to stop her having some fun with him. "Help me get this jacket off first and then you can examine me. Though I didn't think you had a medical degree, so I don't know why I'm going to trust your opinion."

At first he rolled his eyes, sitting back on his heels to glare at her, but he did eventually oblige to help her remove the jacket before she leaned back and let him push her shirt up enough to examine her torso. He took careful note of the bruises starting to form, letting his fingers gently touch them and taking note of how her face responded. His hands moved up to press a little just below her bust. That made her gasp and wince, her teeth grinding together in pain.

"It seems you may have some cracked ribs, you should try and stay as still as possible." As he spoke, he sat back again, leaving her to pull her shirt down herself. Before she could say anything in response, he leaned forward again and took her face in his hands. There was a lot of dried blood from her clearly broken nose, as well as a small cut on her right cheek. The first man had spent much of his time before he'd been allowed to assault her turning a ring round and round that he wore on his left hand. He'd left the ring on, ready to try and leave a nice cut on her face. It seemed she had been right, they had been so focused on taking their frustrations out on a police officer, they managed to do some damage, but had not done it with the sole aim of pain. And to her credit, she hadn't screamed. "We should clean the blood off."

"I can do that myself," she responded, grabbing the bottle of water from the floor beside her. She poured some of the water into her hand and rubbed it over her face. Each time she poured more water onto her hand, she found herself staring at the blood that was now smeared over her skin. Blood didn't bother her, but the sight of her own blood was making her feel quite strange. If you'd asked her if at any point in her life she would allow herself to get her nose broken to protect Sherlock Holmes, she would have told them were to stick it. "How am I looking?"

"You have looked better," Sherlock responded, now back on his feet and pacing the room. She wasn't even sure how he could tell what she looked like; he was barely looking at her once again.

"I told you," she sighed, having taken a swig of the water to soothe her parched throat. "There's no point, we are just waiting for a rescue."

"I refuse to just sit and wait for a rescue while those men continue to torture you for fun," he snapped back, waving a hand at her before continuing to try and thin about plans. Sally stared at him, that almost sounded like he cared and that he wanted to stop them hurting her. In reality he was probably more concerned that if they got bored with her, they'd turn on him. They'd be cruel to him, probably take great pleasure in slowly torturing him till he screamed. They wanted her to scream, but they wanted to hurt her more. If they were here too long, though, they would certainly come up with something bad for her, something very bad.

"You must not have much faith in your brother if you need to come up with your own escape plan. Besides, once Lestrade get's that video, he will not let anyone stop till they find us." While she had her disagreements with Lestrade, they got on well enough and she found him to be a perfectly nice guy. He was also fiercely protective of his officers and that video was going to piss him off.

"Please understand Sergeant Donovan, my brother will be working on a rescue plan, but as I am not in any sort of immediate danger now I cannot guarantee how fast he will be working on that plan. If there is some sort of major crisis taking place as well, I imagine things will be going even slower."

"If he is anywhere near Lestrade when that video turns up and says it's not urgent then he will definitely have a crisis on his hands." Sally tried to laugh at her own joke, but it was rather feeble and just ended up making her cough and then grimace in pain. In an instant Sherlock had dropped down to crouch next to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, eyes darting from her face to her torso faster than she could follow.

"Careful, you almost sound like you care," she replied with a half smile. "I'm fine, I just shouldn't try and laugh or cough it seems."

There was no real response, no indication of whether he actually cared or not, but she didn't really mind. She could read body language and expressions perfectly well and it seemed there was some concern there. Perhaps living with John was starting to have some kind of humanising effect on the freak. That word seemed a little too cruel now and she wondered whether she should actually stop referring to him as that, even in her head.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't long before there was a noise once again at the door. Sally wanted to get up to face whatever was coming but she decided it was better if she tried to stay still for now. Sherlock was pacing, but when the door opened he crossed the room in two steps to stand between her and the door.

"Look at that," she heard a man say, though she could barely see him with Sherlock in the way. "Isn't it sweet the way he's trying to protect the bitch?"

There was the sound of laughter, footsteps as other men came to look at the sight of Sally being defended from harm by the lanky looking weirdo. It suddenly made her furious, clenching her fists and preparing plenty of comebacks. She didn't need to though, the one who'd opened the door suddenly threw something on the floor and then the door slammed shut. Sherlock remained stood in front of her a little while longer, his body tense like he was still prepared for a fight. Then he just shrugged it off and scooped up what was on the floor.

"It seems dinner is some cereal bars," he said, his voice even and bored sounding. "You can have both of them."

When he'd turned to face her, he faltered a little when he saw the look of fury on her face.

"I don't need some freak like you to protect me," she said through gritted teeth. "I can handle myself." She saw the way he just looked back at her with no emotion, no sign that he even cared what she said. It just infuriated her more. "I have spent too long being told I couldn't do things because I'm a woman and I have worked so hard to get the respect I deserve because I am a damn good officer and I am not going to let someone like you make me look weak."

She found herself trying to take a few deep breaths to recover from her little rant, but she certainly felt better for getting it out. Sherlock just stood looking down on her and blinked a few times.

"Are you really so concerned about what three men who will be in prison in a few hours think about you? I stood there because I was worried one of them would try to attack you again, there is a high risk that another blow to your ribs could break them and you may end up with a punctured lung. I feel that Scotland Yard would certainly be worse off without you it has to be said. I'm sorry you feel that way."

Yet again, Sherlock had managed to say something remotely nice to her, but he'd gone back to pacing and was no longer paying any attention to her. Part of her wanted to apologise, but she decided to just leave it, they'd said enough for now. She noticed that he'd dropped the cereal bars on the floor near her; she gladly reached out and began to slowly eat one. As he continued to pace, she found herself watching him and trying to understand him better. It was a certainty that she could spend days with him and she wouldn't understand him better. All she had managed to figure out so far was that he hated showing emotions and liked to hide any feelings he might have towards people. He had gotten better at showing that he cared about John over the past few months, and he was even nicer to Lestrade now, but apparently deep down he didn't actually hate her as much as she expected. She imagined he still hated Anderson, but that was something she chose to just ignore, it's not like he ever helped himself when it came to Sherlock.

They remained in silence for a long while after that, and Sally had to admit it wasn't the most uncomfortable one she'd sat through. That honour was reserved when she told her Dad she was joining the police. That had not been a pleasant dinner at all. It was definitely less than an hour from when Lestrade might have received the video when the door was open and they were dragged back off to the room. There was that smile on Alan's face like he'd just won a prize, which she had a sick feeling was the chance to torture her again. When Sherlock was pushed onto the chair, she felt her heart start to beat a little faster. When they didn't handcuff her too, that was when a certain kind of panic set in. Hadn't they mentioned knives before?

"Hello once again Lestrade, must be sick of my face about now, huh? Anyway, your latest email is quite interesting. You're talking to a member of the British government and he's looking into an extraction and should have news within the hour. Now that is all very good, but that's not quite the good news that I wanted. And these boys, well they really want to have more fun with your dear Sally. So, let's continue shall we."

The man behind Sally suddenly grabbed her left arm by the wrist and pulled her arm out. Another man appeared by her now outstretched arm and was holding a large knife. There was a gleam in his eyes and she wanted to scream and fight, but as long as that knife hovered over the bare skin of her arm she stayed still. Ignoring the panic that threatened to bubble up, she tried to make her face as neutral as possible. She stared straight ahead and felt the cold metal touch her skin, the blade resting just below the sleeve of her shirt. When the knife cut through her skin she gasped at the sharp pain, but it passed quickly. The next cut was a little further down her arm again, and eventually they had left a trail of cuts down her arm from just below her shoulder to her wrist. None of them were very deep, but she could feel the warm blood over her skin and the stinging pain. They'd also been careful to cut the upper side of her arm, no point risking killing her or the deal would be off.

Apparently her rather subdued reaction wasn't enough though as a hand suddenly clamped down over the cuts on her upper arm. That made her cry out, the pressure on the cuts magnifying what little pain there was till it was almost unbearable. That seemed to give them an idea as another hand grabbed at the cuts on her forearm and for once in her life, she couldn't help but scream. The sound of the men's laughter filled her ears even as she tried to force her own mouth shut, to cut off the noise. She would make sure they never laughed again if she got her hands on them; she'd make sure their jaws were wired shut for months when she'd finished with them. That was the end of the show though, they'd gotten their reaction and the video needed to be sent off to Lestrade. Once he'd seen that all hell was certainly going to break loose at Scotland Yard.

Yet again, the landing flashed by as they were dragged back to the little room. Sally was pushed in first and she slumped against the wall opposite the door, sliding down till she just sat awkwardly on the floor. She heard the door slam, but she didn't really care; she just held her left arm to her chest and tried to ignore the pain. There was someone near her, a hand on her shoulder, and then she was being turned so her back was against the wall. Now there definitely was concern in Sherlock's eyes, he couldn't deny it. She managed to crack a smile at that and as soon as he noticed it, the eyes were cold again.

"We need to get those cuts bandaged up somehow," he said, turning away from her to look at something on the floor.

"Ready for the cavalry arriving?" she asked and enjoyed how confused he looked when he spun round. "Member of the British government? An extraction? That's not Lestrade. That's your brother telling him what to say which means we are getting rescued sometime in the next hour."

Sherlock stared at her; it seemed she was smarter, or at least more perceptive, than he gave her credit for. Then he turned back to what he was doing, leaving Sally with a smug smile on her face. That faded when she heard fabric ripping and looked down to see him ripping the lining out of her suit jacket.

"What the hell?" she cried out, but he ignored her. "I liked that jacket."

"You bought it from a department store; I doubt it cost much money and will be easy to replace. Besides, if it was a good jacket that wouldn't have ripped out so easily."

The glare she fixed on him when he turned back to face her was the kind that usually terrified suspects but it didn't faze Sherlock in the slightest. The lining had come off in two large pieces and he was carefully wrapping one around her upper arm. She couldn't help but notice how gentle he was and how his long fingers worked to tighten the material enough to be effective, but not so tight as to hurt her. Then he suddenly stopped and his brow furrowed.

"You forgot how you were going to fasten that didn't you? Maybe we should use the lining out of your jacket?"

Now it was his turn to glare at her, but oddly he actually listened to her and shrugged off his own jacket. She was fairly sure his jacket was actually smaller than hers, which was a strange thing to suddenly fixate on, but her mind was doing strange things. She put it down to pain or something like that. When she heard the jacket rip and saw Sherlock holding part of the jacket's lining, she laughed.

"I guess even expensive jackets rip easily too."

That earned her a glare again, but he didn't actually say anything. She imagined that jacket probably cost more than her entire outfit combined (and probably with her rent on top), but she couldn't complain. He was doing a nice thing for her, ripping the black lining into strips so he could tie them around the purple lining already round her arm. It was fiddly and took a few goes, but eventually he had managed to secure some rather interesting looking attempts at bandages around the cuts on her arm. It was crude, but effective she thought to herself as she managed to move her arm this way and that without the material falling off.

Sherlock was back on his feet, one hand on his hip and the other pressed under his chin. It seemed he was once again lost in thought, but Sally didn't really care right now. There was a rescue coming and she needed to be ready for the chaos that was about to unfold. She'd been on the other side of things a few times, seen how people reacted and what could happen, this wasn't a time to take chances. With a few deep breaths and some very slow movements, she managed to get herself onto her feet and began to asses her injuries again. Her left arm was going to be pretty useless, she could still use her hand of course but a direct hit to the arm was going to hurt like hell. It was the same story with her chest; a hard blow there would send her down fast and run the risk of breaking those ribs. That left her with the chance to use her legs and one arm, so at least she could run and punch if needed. Slowly, she began to stretch her right arm and even dared to stretch her left arm, which was painful but not unbearably so. An attempt to do some stretching of her torso only caused her to swear a little under her breath and had Sherlock at her side in less than a second.

"What do you think you are doing Sergeant? Or are you intending to injure yourself even more?" His voice sounded exasperated, but he had a hand on her shoulder and was looking her up and down as quickly as possible. With a sigh, Sally stepped away from him and turned to face him.

"At some point in the next hour all hell is going to break loose in this house. Police are going to come barging in and there is no way those men downstairs are going to take it laying down. I imagine Alan's first thought is going to be how he can get out of here and that is going to require a human shield. As soon as those first officers turn up, he will be right up here and he is going to have some kind of weapon pointed at one of us. I am not letting that man drag me out of here with a knife at my throat past the people I work with so he can just walk away from all this. If he comes up here, I am going to fight and I need to be ready fight, got it?"

There was so much aggression in her voice that she hadn't expected. It was the image of Alan using her to get out of her, that image of her colleagues just watching as she was dragged past them already bloodied and bruised. It was not going to happen; she was not going to let that man just walk away from this when he should be in prison. She expected some kind of response from Sherlock, some comment about how she was completely wrong about what was going to happen, but instead he just nodded at her and began pacing. Even as he paced, she noticed him rolling his shoulders and wrists. Even he was getting ready for the fight.


	6. Chapter 6

The first indication that the cavalry had indeed arrived was the loud crash as a door was kicked in followed by various voices shouting. In the little room upstairs, Sherlock and Sally tensed. Sally was stood nearest the door, making sure to take a few steps back to avoid the door when it eventually swung open. Sherlock was stood ready, though she couldn't figure out why he was holding his suit jacket behind his back. She was sure it was going to come in handy at some point, though she couldn't imagine what for.

When the door did fly open, Alan was there with a knife out and a furious look on his face. One of his accomplices was behind him, mask long forgotten it seemed, and Sally suddenly remembered his name was Jason.

"You keep an eye on him," he barked at Jason, waving his hand in Sherlock's direction before turning his attention to Sally. He held the knife out in front of him and behind him she could hear the commotion from downstairs. She hadn't anticipated the extra man, but she supposed he needed someone to prevent Sherlock from getting in his way. There was no way Alan would use him as the human shield after all, what better way to get past coppers than to use a copper. "We're gonna go for a walk Sally."

Another step forward from Alan and there was a sudden explosion of movement next to them. Sherlock had thrown his suit jacket over Jason's head, temporarily disorientating him, before charging at him and ramming him into the wall. Alan was just staring at the sight of it which gave Sally plenty of time to lunge at him. She twisted his right hand, forcing him to drop the knife with a cry. It also meant forcing his attention back on her, which resulted in a sudden punch to the face. Apparently his left hook was still pretty strong and it sent her sprawling to the floor. For a second she lay there trying to recover from the hit, but it was clearly a second too long. A new pain blossomed in her chest as something heavy pressed on her, but when she opened her mouth to scream the sound was cut off by heavy hands round her throat.

Looking up, her vision was full of Alan's furious face as he straddled her and tightened his grip. She grabbed at his hands, trying to pull them off, but it was no use. His grip was like a vice, there was no way to get air into her already burning lungs. Reaching up, she desperately tried to scratch at his face as if that would make him let go, but it served no other purpose than to annoy him like a fly buzzing around his head. Behind him, she was sure she heard a sudden thud and grunt. Sherlock and Jason were still fighting. There were still voices yelling downstairs. Everyone was distracted. There was no rescue on the way.

For a moment, Sally found herself wondering if this was it, if this was how she was going to die. She had to admit, if this was it, it wasn't how she'd expected to go. Oh she'd always had a sneaking suspicion it would be the police that killed her, but she'd always imagined it would be doing something brave or heroic. Dying on the floor being strangled by a wannabe gangster hadn't quite figured into her plan. Her vision was starting to get very fuzzy now and she wondered how much air she had left.

That was when the grip on her throat suddenly loosened and she found herself able to breathe. She tried to take in deep breaths, but just found herself coughing which in turn made her chest hurt even more. As her eyes started to focus again she realised the weight on her chest was being lifted courtesy of Sherlock having an arm wrapped very tightly around Alan's throat. He was dragging him backwards off her towards the very unconscious looking Jason and now it was Alan's turn to grab at the arm around his throat. Sherlock's face was furious looking and that grip certainly looked very tight, but she didn't really mind now. Letting her head fall back she just tried to focus on breathing again.

It wasn't long before she heard footsteps and voices shouting at the doorway. She was fairly sure she heard Lestrade shouting about Sherlock needing to let go now, which made her smile. Alan had really pissed Sherlock off and it seemed he was pretty determined to keep a hold of him. Then there was the usual shouting to get the paramedics upstairs before a very worried looking face appeared before her.

"Sally, can you hear me? We're getting you help, don't worry it's going to be fine." Lestrade was kneeling next to her looking her over, the red marks around her throat being the most concerning to him right now.

"Thanks for the rescue," she managed to mutter, her voice rough and croaky. She was sure he saw him smile as he was moved aside by the paramedics and she gladly let them start to care for her. For the first time in quite a few hours, she could finally relax.

When she'd arrived at the hospital it had actually been daylight but by the time they had finished dealing with her cuts, waited for an x-ray, analysed the x-ray, dealt with her bruises, waited for the results of the toxicology on what had been injected into her and given her some pain medication, it had gotten dark again. Laying back and enjoying the utter bliss of being unable to feel her cracked ribs anymore, she both thanked and cursed the NHS. They had at least allowed her some visitors in that time though. Lestrade had appeared pretty early on to tell her that everyone had been arrested, even though Jason was currently handcuffed to a hospital bed while they dealt with his concussion and Alan was yelling something about an assault that they all mysteriously hadn't witnessed. When official visiting hours had started, Sally found herself confronted by her crying mother and surprisingly stoic father. She knew she probably looked worse than it was, after all it could have been a lot worse. That was when she's also found out her mother had happened to meet Lestrade in a corridor when they'd first arrived and had promptly yelled at him. The idea of her mother yelling at her boss was both hilarious and utterly mortifying.

It was getting late now, visiting hours were over, and it was finally time for her to sleep. As she closed her eyes, she heard the door handle turn and someone enter the room. Given that there was meant to be an officer sitting outside her door just in case, she doubted whoever it was planned to kill her so she kept her eyes shut. She fully expected whoever it was to see that she asleep and leave. Instead, the mystery guest walked towards the bed and she heard them flip through the chart at the end of her bed. Then they moved to stand on the left side of her and she was sure she could feel eyes on her so she opened her own eyes to see who was refusing to leave her alone.

"Evening Sherlock," she croaked, her voice still not quite recovered from Alan's rather tight grip. Sherlock looked back at her and a slight smile seemed to grace his face. There was also a very nice looking bruise starting to form on one cheek. It seemed Jason had managed to land one punch on those impossibly perfect cheekbones of his. "Bit past visiting time."

"Unfortunately they've been waiting for the toxicology report on what we were injected with so I've been stuck in this hospital all day," he said it with a sigh and slumped down into the chair near her bed.

"Those results came back three hours ago so you would have been discharged at least two and a half hours ago." There was that sudden flicker in his eyes when he realised he'd been caught out. Lestrade had insisted on the doctor telling her the results even if she was being kept in overnight anyway, he hadn't wanted her worrying about it. If she was being completely honest, she'd forgotten about the damn sedative not long after the first punch to the face. "Don't worry, I get it. You can't let anyone see you're worried about how I am so you waited till everyone had gone home and that nice young police officer went off to get a cup of coffee or something."

There was a silence in the room as her words hung in the air between them. She knew she was right, she'd seen the concern in his eyes at the house and just then when she'd opened her eyes there had definitely been relief. That wasn't how Sherlock Holmes did things though; he was detached and emotionless unless John or his landlady was involved. But perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn't quite the cold hearted monster they all thought he was. An insensitive idiot who thoroughly enjoyed proving he was better than everyone else that he most certainly was.

"Thank you, by the way."

Sherlock stared hard at her when she spoke again, brow furrowing at his confusion.

"Well you pulled him off me when he was strangling me; I think that's something that deserves a thank you."

There was that dismissive wave of the hand he usually gave her as he pulled himself up to his feet.

"You prevented my body coming to any harm; I was merely repaying the favour. Besides, you are clearly a better officer and more intelligent person than I've been giving you credit for, it would be a shame to lose the opportunity to have you prove me wrong sometime in the future."

Sally blinked a few times and tried to make sense of what she'd just heard. Had he actually just paid her a compliment? Somehow, that twisted mind of his had managed to pay her a compliment, even if it did have a back handed swipe at the end. If she was totally honest, he'd probably saved her life back there, but she wasn't giving him the satisfaction of her saying it. She still thought he was an arrogant prick and she was sure there would still be days she hated him, but right now, she didn't think he was such a terrible person.

Of course, that was probably the pain medication talking.

"Well then, I'd better make sure I recover quickly so I can prove you wrong much faster," she said it was a devious smile and was almost pleased to see him return it.

"In that case, sleep well Sergeant Donovan."

"I will Holmes."

She saw Sherlock falter at the door. That was the first time she'd really called him anything other than 'you' or 'freak'. He turned back to look at her with the most genuine smile she thought she'd ever seen from him.

"I'd prefer Sherlock," he responded.

"I'll try to remember that," was her reply, leaning back and closing her eyes. There was a better chance that hell would freeze over before she actually called him Sherlock, but at least Holmes was a start. Plus it would be fun to wind him up for a while by insisting on calling him Holmes. She heard the door shut quietly and smiled. It had certainly been a long day and at last, she could finally fall asleep

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><p><em>Author's Note: And that's all she wrote. Thanks for reading, favouriting and reviewing guys!<em>


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